


Leap

by gobstoneswithhector



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, M/M, POV Albus Severus Potter, POV Scorpius Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-11 18:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17452097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gobstoneswithhector/pseuds/gobstoneswithhector
Summary: Scorpius and Albus are both twenty and living as flatmates in London.  Scorpius gets a fantastic job opportunity across the world, but his decision to take it is complicated by the seemingly unrequited feelings he has toward his best friend.For Albus, maybe the threat of his best friend leaving will give him the push he needs to finally tell how Scorpius how much he means to him.





	1. Part One

There was nothing more relaxing to Scorpius Malfoy than making lists. Scorpius made to-do lists, pros and cons lists, and lists about his favorite breakfast cereals. Whenever he was faced with a problem or an interesting idea, he approached it with a list. 

So it was not surprising that Scorpius found himself sitting at his little desk in his little room of his little flat with his journal open to a blank page and his hand scribbling across the top the beginning of a new list that would help him make one of the hardest decisions of his twenty-year existence. 

 

Earlier that day, Scorpius had gone to work as usual. Like any other Wednesday, he arrived at the Natural History Museum at nine o’clock a.m. after stopping by the neighboring coffee shop for a scone and a soy-milk latte. He passed by the front desk with a nod from the girl working the admittance counter and continued down the cathedral-like hall toward the lifts, marveling as he did every day at the Romanesque architecture and enormous skeleton of the blue whale suspended from the paneled and gilded ceiling above.

Once the lift doors closed, he scanned his identification badge and pressed the B button. He took the lift down until he reached the basement. To any Muggles who ventured to the floor beneath the ground, the doorway appeared taped and signed off for remodeling with warnings of hazards within. Frequenters of the museum, as well as the Muggle staff who worked there, often joked that the basement had been under construction since 1881. 

To Scorpius, however, and the many other witches and wizards who worked there, the basement housed one of the greatest research facilities and archives in the world. Scorpius was very proud indeed to work as a junior research associate for the Gambol Research Institute for Magic. 

Stepping off the lift, Scorpius walked through the basement double doors and down the dimly lit hallway until he reached the entrance of the Institute. He greeted the security troll at the front desk with a wave (receiving a grunt in return) and headed left toward his office near the stacks. He was halfway through the latest edit of his first manuscript when his boss, Rutherford Wright, appeared in his doorway. 

“Mr. Wright—hello!” Scorpius said, sitting up straighter in his seat. Since coming to work at the Institute, Scorpius had been intimidated by his boss—an old, balding man who wore suspenders to hold his pants up over his large belly. Mr. Wright wasn’t ever mean to Scorpius, but he wasn’t friendly either; the most Scorpius had gotten out of Mr. Wright was a twitch of his mustache, which Scorpius had hoped concealed the hint of a smile. 

“Meeting in ten, Malfoy,” said Mr. Wright. “Popplewell’s office.” 

“The Director?” Scorpius asked, not quite believing what he was hearing. He had never been down to the Director’s office. Rumor had it that the door was goblin-made and could be opened only by reciting word for word the first chapter of _A History of Magic_.

“Yes, so don’t be late,” said Mr. Wright, and he shuffled off.

Scorpius sprang to his feet and trotted over to the small mirror hanging by his coat rack. He put some strands of his light blond hair back into place and smiled at his reflection to make sure he didn’t have any leftover scone in his teeth. 

“Why don’t I have a tie?” he asked himself. Of course, he never wore a tie. There wasn’t usually anyone to impress down in the basement stacks, the archives, or even in the artefacts room. Institute policy was to dress as Muggle-like as possible since they worked in such close proximity to the population, so Scorpius didn’t even have a set of dress robes just in case. The best he could do was throw on a coat, but since it was nearly summer, that seemed impractical. Scorpius considered himself once more before speaking again. 

“Albus.”

The image in the mirror changed. Instead of seeing himself looking back, Scorpius saw the living room of the flat he shared with his best friend, Albus Potter. 

“Albus?”

When Albus didn’t answer, and when Scorpius didn’t hear any noise coming from their flat, he pulled another two-way mirror from his pocket. Looking at it, he repeated his best friend’s name again. 

After a moment, his reflection faded, and a set of brilliant green eyes replaced his grey ones and blinked back at him. Albus moved his own two-way mirror farther away from his face and smiled. 

“All right, mate?”

Scorpius recognized Albus’s surroundings and saw that he was outside on their balcony. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the freckles on his shoulders and bridge of his nose were even more prominent in the morning sun.

“I have a meeting with the Director,” Scorpius squeaked. He watched Albus furrow his brow and take a sip from a coffee mug with the words “World’s Best Auntie” on it. 

“You’ve never been to the Director’s,” he said. 

Exasperated, Scorpius flailed the arm that wasn’t holding the mirror. 

“I know! Why am I going? Do I look okay? _What’s happening_?”

“First of all,” started Albus, a dimple appearing on his cheek as he tried to stifle his laughter. “Stop freaking out. You’re probably getting a promotion.”

“I highly doubt that,” Scorpius laughed, but then his expression turned serious. “What if I’m getting fired? I told you about breaking that Mayan vase on the second floor, right? I gave it a _Reparo_ and then Obliviated the curator and three guests but…”

“Scorpius, it’s going to be fine.”

Scorpius looked at Albus. When they purchased the rare two-way mirrors two years ago from a dingy wizarding antique shop in Edinburgh, they were skeptical about how much they’d use them, so used to relying on owl post and the Floo Network. But after realizing how much easier it was to effectively carry each other around in their pockets, they swore to use owls and fire calls only as last resorts. 

“Okay,” Scorpius said, and then he looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go!” 

“Good luck,” said Albus. “And you do, by the way.”

“I do what?”

“Look okay. You look good.”

“Oh,” Scorpius said, blushing. “Thanks.” He took one last look at Albus before the image faded back into his own reflection and then pocketed his mirror. 

He half ran out of his office and down the hall, past Mr. Wright’s office, the alchemy laboratory, the map collection, and the drinking fountain that dispensed Gillywater. He turned down the torch-lit hallway he knew led to the Director’s office (he’d sometimes look wistfully at it when he passed, thinking he’d never have a good reason to be down there) and then stopped at the only door at the end, which, sadly, looked perfectly normal. A bit disappointed that he wouldn’t need to recite any words from _A History of Magic_ , he knocked twice. 

The door opened, and Scorpius peeked inside. A tall woman in her fifties with close-cropped grey hair and a purple blazer sat at a large oak desk. Mr. Wright was on the other side and flipping through a thick file. Behind the desk were rows and rows of bookshelves reaching the ceiling and packed with what Scorpius could only assume were fascinating reads. 

“Um, hello?”

“Scorpius! Come in.” 

Scorpius hadn’t expected Perdita Popplewell’s voice to be so cheerful, but it made him feel a bit more at ease. He walked over to the desk and took a seat next to Mr. Wright. Popplewell closed the door behind him with a flick of her wand. 

“How are you, Madam Popplewell?” 

“Oh, fine, fine, dear,” she said, pulling a pair of stylish glasses with purple frames out of her breast pocket and putting them on. She reached for the file Mr. Wright had been reading. Scorpius saw his own name written on the tab. 

“I wanted to talk to you, Scorpius, about Central America.”

Scorpius’s face fell. 

“I _knew_ this was about the Mayan vase! Madam Popplewell, I am _so_ sorry—”

“Scorpius, this is about a new research endeavor that I think you be interested in.”

Scorpius stopped apologizing and looked at the Director. Next to him, Mr. Wright pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 

“Oh!” Scorpius said, giving an awkward laugh. He wedged his hands under his thighs to keep them from fidgeting. “Please go on.”

“There’s some exciting research going on in the wizarding communities in Guatemala, Honduras, and across countries all the way to Panama.”

Popplewell flicked her wand again and a giant roll of parchment soared toward her and then unfurled itself, revealing a map of North, Central, and South America. It hovered next to her and Scorpius’s eyes scanned it with interest. 

“Studying the magic there would expand our archives here tremendously and help us better improve our own spellwork, specifically in the areas of Herbology, Magizoology, the cosmos, and archaeology. Isn’t your own manuscript covering the healing properties of non-native plants?”

Scorpius nodded enthusiastically. 

“So it’s only natural that we ask you to head some of the research there. We’re setting up a team: you from Research and Writing, Leopold from Archives, Paschal from Cartography, Valerian from Alchemy, and, of course, Mr. Wright. Now, you’re responsible for your own housing, but you’ll receive a stipend for living, in addition to your regular pay, if you so choose to go—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Scorpius interrupted, trying to digest what he was hearing. “Are you asking me to go to Central America?”

“Yes.”

“And live there?”

“Yes.”

“And study intricacies of magic we’ve only read about and then bring my findings here?”

Mr. Wright gave another sigh and finally spoke. 

“Yes, Malfoy!” He turned to Popplewell. “I can’t believe I’ll be stuck with this one in Guatemala City for two years.”

“Two years?”

“Mr. Wright, you said yourself Scorpius was the brightest junior researcher you’ve seen in decades.”

“You said that about me?”

“I’m regretting it now,” said Mr. Wright, shaking off the hand Scorpius had placed on his shoulder. 

“So, Scorpius, what do you say?”

Scorpius bit his lip.

“I think I need to mull it over,” he said. “Talk to my family and all that.”

“I thought so. Let Mr. Wright know by Friday, okay? Now what’s this about a Mayan vase?”

 

So there it was. The decision Scorpius had only a couple days to make. To take a fabulous opportunity across the world, probably have an adventure or two, and discover and practice magic he’d only dreamed about, or remain in London and continue researching and writing as he had done for the past three years. 

To anyone else, the decision would seem easy. But to Scorpius, the decision filled him with an anxiety he’d never known, because one person was worth more than any trip across the world. 

That’s why when Scorpius got home that day, he went straight to his room, sat at his desk, and began a list. 

He titled his list _The Great Central American Research Experience_ and under it drew a vertical line right down the middle of the page. Above the first column, he wrote “Pros” and above the second, “Cons.” 

The pros were obvious, so he listed them easily:

_Traveling (NOT through time)_  
_Learning new (to me) magic_  
_Expanding the archives_  
_Making Dad proud_  
_Making new friends?_  
_GOOD FOOD_

And so on. 

The cons were obvious too, but Scorpius didn’t need to spend much time on that side of the paper. There was only one negative to moving to Central America for two years, and it was a big one: Albus. 

Scorpius loved Albus. He loved Albus more than poring over dusty old books and finding data that supported his hypotheses. He loved Albus more than the Hyderabadi biryani and naan he picked up every Monday after work from the little restaurant down the street. He loved Albus more than the Muggle crime radio show he listened to while taking a bath. He loved Albus more than anything in the world, and the thought of being away from him for two days, let alone two years, made him feel physically ill. 

So on the right column, under Cons, was just the one word: _Albus_. Scorpius underlined it three times and then circled it twice. Then he put a little star on either side for good measure. He looked at his completed list and, sighing loudly, found that he was still as conflicted as he was after Popplewell gave him the news. 

Scorpius was sure that Albus would be fine if he left. Much to Scorpius’s dismay, Albus didn’t return Scorpius’s feelings. Not that Scorpius ever asked or even told Albus how he felt. He just knew. 

For one, Albus had always been with women. Scorpius did too, but nothing ever lasted. When they were at Hogwarts they both had girlfriends; in Sixth Year, Albus dated a Hufflepuff a year ahead of them, and Scorpius dated a fellow Slytherin. Since moving to London, they’d each gone out with Muggle women and once or twice brought them home.

Another reason Scorpius knew Albus didn’t like him _like that_ was because Albus seemed really uncomfortable when Scorpius first told him that he also fancied blokes. 

Scorpius had gone out for a friendly drink with a coworker, an archivist named Franny. A man about their age approached Scorpius at the bar and offered to buy him a drink. Franny encouraged Scorpius to accept and soon after Scorpius and the young man, Ben, were kissing in the alley outside. When Scorpius told Albus that he’d kissed a man, Albus went rigid and the color drained from his face. He barely talked to Scorpius for a week, making Scorpius feel awful and like he didn’t know his best friend at all. They eventually had it out. 

It was the worst fight they’d had in years. Scorpius accused Albus of being disgusted by him. Albus told Scorpius he was just surprised and that Scorpius was overreacting. Scorpius made Albus promise that nothing between them would change and that Albus didn’t think anything less of him, and Albus swore to the entire universe that nothing could make him dislike his best friend. And then they hugged and never mentioned it again. 

So, no, Albus didn’t love Scorpius in the same way that Scorpius loved him. And Scorpius had made his peace with that. But that didn’t mean that Scorpius was eager to leave Albus and the life they shared together, no matter how one sided, behind for two long years. 

Scorpius looked at his list one more time before heading out into the kitchen for a snack. Albus would be home soon, as he always went to his publisher’s on Wednesdays, and would probably cook dinner. 

Grabbing a biscuit from a tin on the counter, Scorpius mused over his life in London. He really loved it. He and Albus moved in together after Hogwarts, and Scorpius started his research fellowship soon after that. They had picked out their little flat themselves, deciding to live in Muggle-occupied Chelsea. It was easier that way; no one knew them or judged them and everything they needed was nearby.

Living together among Muggles was also more fun. They took public transportation (and often got lost) and hopped from restaurant to pub on the weekends, just enjoying each other’s company without any added pressure from the wizarding world. 

They still used magic daily, and it was still easier to do household things and menial tasks with spells and charms, but there was something to be said about the television and the microwave and the fridge that Scorpius wondered how he ever lived without some Muggle technology.

The only downside to living, at least on the surface, like a Muggle, was that his and Albus’s inherent magic often interfered with the electricity in their home. For instance, when Albus was especially moody and forlorn before he scored a deal with a publisher eager to produce the comics he’d been working on since Sixth Year, the light bulbs in the flat would dim at any given moment and the television would buzz violently. If the two of them got too boisterous while listening to Quidditch commentary on the wireless, the ceiling fan would start spinning faster and faster until they calmed down. 

His life was good, and Scorpius wasn’t bored, but he did wonder what awaited him in Central America, if anything. He pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled a note for Albus, letting him know he’d be at their usual spot, and then stuck it to the fridge with the FORBIDDEN PLANET magnet Albus had picked up from a comic book shop of the same name because they sold his work. 

Scorpius headed out the door, stopping only to smile at the framed photos that covered their walls, all depicting the two best friends in various states of happiness.

* * *

Albus Potter was in a pleasant mood when he left his publisher's office and headed back home, his messenger bag swinging at his side and a whistle at his lips. It was a beautiful, clear evening, and he had just turned in his latest work by the deadline. Finishing a piece always had Albus feeling alight with happiness and the twenty-minute walk to his flat was effortless because of it. 

For many years, Albus was unhappy. He came from a very famous family, and when he didn’t live up to everyone’s expectations (especially his own) he became resentful and withdrawn. Throughout school he was bullied because of his lackluster magic ability and general morose. While there he found happiness in only one thing: his friendship with Scorpius Malfoy. 

So when Scorpius accepted a research fellowship in an underground wizarding department of the Natural History Museum, Albus was ready and willing to move to London with him. But for months Albus had nothing to do. He didn’t have any job offers or interviews. Instead, he was waiting for publishers to get back to him on whether the comic books and art pieces he’d created for the last several years were worthy of distribution. 

Albus got his first set of markers from Scorpius in Fifth Year after he’d used all of his and Scorpius’s ink stores drawing in the margins of his class notes. Albus quickly took to the markers and began creating larger and more detailed pieces of work. He liked creating stories about seemingly normal people with special abilities and then bringing them to life with color and speech bubbles. 

Drawing was a way to cope with the bullying, pressure, and sadness he often felt. He even modeled characters after himself and his best friend and put them in all sorts of situations, some of them painfully accurate to real life. 

Albus heard back from a literary agent in December, who touted Albus’s work as “creative” and “hilarious” and “a bit depressing.” The news that he’d been offered a publishing deal was the best Christmas present that year. Since then, he’d been creating more comics, which became graphic novels, selling commissioned artwork, and enjoying moderate success throughout the comic-loving Muggle world. 

His family was proud of him, even though they really didn’t understand what he did or why he did it and often warned him about inadvertently exposing their world’s magic through his storytelling. They understood comics and art, of course, but they didn’t get why Albus would choose to work for and alongside Muggles instead of fully embracing the wizarding community he’d grown up with all his life. 

But Albus enjoyed living among non-magical people. No one bothered him or expected anything of him because of his famous last name. And he was free to do magic whenever he was at home, which was often since he worked out of his room or on the balcony outside. The best thing, though, about living in London in the heart of Muggle territory was that he got to do it with Scorpius, whom he loved very much. 

Scorpius was the best person Albus had ever known. He was kind and funny and weird and handsome. He saved Albus’s life in more ways than one, and Albus was endlessly grateful that he got to exist alongside him. 

He and Scorpius did everything together. They picked out their flat themselves and made rent each month (with Muggle money!) without worry or help from their parents, which, to Albus’s amusement, was more than his brother James could say. 

Upon moving in, they had playfully fought over the bigger bedroom, Scorpius claiming that he needed the extra space for his books and Albus arguing that he needed room for his drawing tablet and art supplies. In the end, they wrestled for it in the empty, furniture-less sitting area, and only when Albus pinned Scorpius to the ground and threatened to never cook meals for him did Scorpius relent. 

Albus foolishly thought that his attraction to his best friend would lessen after Hogwarts and after they began their jobs and started meeting more people. But he was very wrong. It was harder to push his feelings down when he and Scorpius were living almost like a couple and somehow growing even closer with each passing day. If they didn’t sleep in separate bedrooms, a casual observer might think they were together. 

But they weren’t, much to Albus’s disappointment. Even though Albus cooked dinner for Scorpius almost every night and Scorpius did Albus’s laundry (the Muggle way!), they were best friends and nothing more. Not even the way Scorpius would inch closer and closer to Albus on the sofa while they watched late-night television until the two were practically sitting on top of each other and under one blanket fully convinced Albus that there was anything there besides friendship. 

So instead of wallowing or moping, which Albus tried very hard every day not to do, he just enjoyed his best friend’s company. And tried to keep up. 

When Scorpius got a girlfriend in Sixth Year, Albus got one too. When Scorpius brought home a date for the first time, a brunette who worked at a pizzeria on Kensington, Albus left the flat and went to find a date for himself. When Scorpius went on two dates with a Muggle yoga instructor who insisted on greeting Albus with a “Namaste” even though she was whiter than a Malfoy peacock, Albus went on three dates with an actress from the Chelsea Theatre. Nothing was ever serious, for him or Scorpius it seemed, and Albus was secretly glad for it. 

Albus fell back into a brief bout of depression after a revelation from Scorpius one night and nasty fight about it a week later. Scorpius had confided in him that he fancied men and had been kissing some bloke named Bob or Brad or something outside a pub just an hour before. Albus thought he learned something that night: it wasn’t that Scorpius didn’t like men but that he didn’t like Albus. 

Albus couldn’t hide his disappointment, and Scorpius misinterpreted Albus’s anger and sadness entirely. He thought Albus was some kind of closed-minded arsehole that thought his best friend disgusting. But he couldn’t be more wrong. 

Albus knew that he liked other blokes for a really long time, but the opportunity to be with one had never presented itself. And truly, if he were honest, Scorpius was the only bloke he could picture himself with. So he kept this information to himself and carried on as he always did, finding it easier to have Scorpius as his friend than not have him at all. 

 

When Albus got home he noticed right away that something was off. It was too quiet. Usually Scorpius was already sitting at the bar counter of their cramped kitchen and whining about being hungry. Instead of his best friend lingering about, Albus found a note stuck to the fridge. 

Interesting. Not often was Scorpius willing to skip dinner for a drink. They both knew how Scorpius got on an empty stomach with a few beers in him. Albus got his keys and his messenger bag, and thinking there was a good chance he may need some magical transportation to get Scorpius home, took his wand off its usual place on the coffee table and pocketed it, and headed out to the pub down the street. 

Albus and Scorpius went to Finborough Arms almost once a week, but usually on Fridays. Albus noticed right away the difference in the crowd on a Wednesday night. Everyone seemed a little haggard and trying to get over the mid-week hump. 

Albus spotted Scorpius sitting at a booth in the corner and nursing one of the local draughts. Another pint sat on the table in front of the empty space across from him. Albus slid into the booth next to his friend. 

“You expecting someone?” Albus nodded to the pint across from them. 

Scorpius rolled his eyes but smiled and brought it in front of Albus, leaving a ring and trail of water on the table. 

Albus sipped his beer and leaned into the squishy back of the bench. 

“So did you get promoted?”

“Um, no...” Scorpius began, dabbing at the residual water on the table with his finger. 

“Are you telling me that I wasted a perfectly good morning drawing...” Albus pulled something out of his bag. “...This?” 

He held up a sheet of paper with an elaborately drawn and colored caricature of Scorpius dressed in a three piece suit, his trousers exaggeratedly tented, and the words “Head Wanker” written on top. 

Scorpius busted out laughing. 

Several months ago, Albus had walked into Scorpius’s room without knocking, as he usually did, and found his best friend in bed, sheets pooled around his feet, tossing off. Just going at it. It took a full five seconds for Scorpius to realize that Albus was standing there. When he did notice, Scorpius had yelped and thrown a book at his head, and Albus had mocked him mercilessly since. Scorpius was a good sport about it, usually turning red at any hint of the incident, and Albus, well, Albus was given plenty of material that day for his own alone time (and he was smart enough to lock his door). 

“Not a promotion,” said Scorpius again as he stuffed the drawing back into Albus’s bag. “But a new opportunity.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It requires some... travel.”

“Really? Where’re you headed to?”

“If I accept, then Central America. Guatemala City, specifically—”

“No way, José!”

“—for two years.”

Albus felt his stomach drop. A bad taste formed on his tongue. His hearing failed him for a moment, surely. 

“Come again?” 

“I’ve been offered a research opportunity in Central America for two years, Albus, and I’m thinking about taking it.”

Albus stared at his friend, lost for words. This couldn’t be happening. He and Scorpius were, well, _Albus and Scorpius_. They were, as his sister Lily teased, inseparable. 

Albus’s body continued to react to the news. He felt his ears burn hot and and his heart physically ache. He must’ve heard wrong. He must’ve. 

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

“You heard me, Albus. Stop playing dumb.”

“But you can’t—”

“I’ll pay my share of rent until the lease is up, or I’ll help you find a subtenant—”

“I don’t care about the sodding rent—”

“—this is a very good, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me—”

“But you can’t just go. We have a life here.”

“And you can continue having a life here, and when I come back, so can I.”

Albus wanted to say that a life without Scorpius wasn’t a life at all.

“You’re really considering it, then?”

“Yes,” said Scorpius, taking another gulp of his beer. “Unless there’s a reason I should stay.”

Albus looked at Scorpius, thinking of a hundred reasons why he should stay, the top of which had everything to do with how much Albus loved him and needed him, but he couldn’t find the words to actually get those feelings out. So he sipped at his beer again in silence. 

They sat there for some time, side by side, making small talk and looking again at the Scorpius drawing Albus had created that morning. They ordered more drinks and talked about the pros of Scorpius’s list. 

“Traveling is always fun—”

“Unless it’s through time.”

“I’ll be able to expand the archives—”

“You are such a geek.”

“My dad would be okay, I think—”

“He’ll miss you loads.”

“I’ll probably meet interesting people—”

“No hablas español.”

“I hear the food is amazing—”

“I have to brew you an indigestion potion before you eat anything too spicy or else you end up crying on the toilet.”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Scorpius said, pushing Albus gently with his shoulder.

Albus wasn’t sure Scorpius got it at all. 

“I have to decide by Friday.” Scorpius bit his bottom lip and swirled his glass. 

Albus put his head in his hands and then grabbed tufts of his wild black hair and pulled in frustration. 

“That’s not a lot of time,” he groaned.

“I know.”

They left the pub, and because Scorpius was stumbling slightly, Albus took them behind a nearby dumpster and Apparated home. 

Thankfully, no Muggles were around to witness the _pop_ of their appearance, and, figuring he’d go all out with the spellwork, Albus gave an _Alohomora_ to their door and then brought them inside. 

He took Scorpius to his room and led him to the bed. He took off Scorpius’s shoes and stroked his blond hair, wondering at first how he was going to get Scorpius to consider staying and then realizing, as Scorpius closed his eyes and began to drift off, that perhaps the best thing for Scorpius was to go, and that it wasn’t Albus’s place, or intention, to ever hold him back.

* * *

Scorpius woke the next morning a little hung over and very hungry. He remembered the numerous pints he had before and that he never ate, which was his mistake. To be fair, he was too worried about breaking the news to Albus.

Albus’s response was more or less what he expected. He was surprised but not devastated, and in the end he never gave Scorpius a clear answer on whether or not he should go to Central America. 

When Scorpius went to the kitchen he saw that Albus wasn’t there, which was unusual. Scorpius saw that the other bedroom door was open and that Albus wasn’t in there either. He also wasn’t on the balcony sipping coffee like the day before. 

Scorpius went to work, not knowing where Albus had gone and hoping that they weren’t going to have another week of awkward silence. 

 

The day went horribly slow. Scorpius spent most of the day with a headache and shut in his office reading the _Popol Vuh_. Mr. Wright popped his head in twice before lunchtime to get an update on his decision, and only when Scorpius, panicking, exclaimed, “I still have one more day!” rather shrilly did Mr. Wright stop prodding. 

Scorpius took the long way home, and by the time he reached his front steps it was already dark. He was happy to see Albus inside with two steaming bowls on the kitchen bar in front of him. Scorpius took his usual seat on the barstool across from where Albus stood on the other side. Albus pushed a bowl toward him. 

“Leek soup,” he said. 

“Thanks.”

Albus smiled and then took a spoonful. They ate quietly, talking about their days every few slurps. Albus said he had gone into the main hub of the city because his latest graphic novel was supposed to on the newsstands. Scorpius promised to pick one up the next time he was at the bookshop he knew sold them too. 

The energy was off. It was weird. 

After dinner they went outside on the balcony to smoke. Shortly after moving in they had befriended a university student on the floor above them who gave Albus joints in exchange for unreleased comics. Scorpius lit the end of the joint with his wand and they sat against the sliding door and watched the street below, passing it between them. Scorpius still didn’t feel any better. 

After they finished and mumbled goodnight they went to their separate rooms. Fifteen minutes later, or maybe it was an hour, or maybe it was only several seconds, Scorpius was sitting on the edge of his bed in his underwear, his face in his hands, feeling only slightly high and mostly confused, when he heard a soft rapping on his door. 

“Scorpius?”

Scorpius saw Albus’s figure silhouetted against the light of the hallway behind him. He was leaning against the frame of the doorway and fiddling nervously with the strings of his joggers. He seemed a galaxy away. Scorpius stood up and walked over to him. Now that he was closer, he saw that Albus’s eyes were red and puffy, and that his chest was rising and falling quite fast. He was also worrying his bottom lip. Scorpius had never seen him in a such a state. 

“Albus, I—”

“I think you should go.” 

Scorpius had to look away and blink away the tears threatening to fall from his own eyes.

“I don’t want to,” he said, shaking his head.

“You do,” Albus said back. He took a step closer to Scorpius and took his hands in his own. “I want you to go—” 

Scorpius choked back a sob.

“Albus, please—”

“—and take me with you.” 

Scorpius sniffled and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“What did you say?”

“Take me with you.”

“What? How—”

“Floo me there, use a Portkey, hail the Knight Bus, fuck, hail a bloody Knight Ship. I don’t care, just _please_ let me come with you.”

Albus had gone mad, surely. 

“What about your job? Your family?”

“My job? My job is drawing pictures at home and making sure I get them to an editor and publisher by a deadline. I walk to an office that isn’t mine every week because I want to, not because I need to. I can write comics anywhere. I can use a computer now. I have bloody email for Merlin’s sake.”

“But—”

“And you’re my family, Scorpius. You’re my number one. I hardly see everyone else as it is, and, frankly, being away from them for two years would be a hell of a lot easier than being away from you for any amount of time.” 

When Scorpius could only stare back in shock, Albus continued. 

“I can’t let you pass this up. But if you’re willing—and only if you truly want to—please let me come.”

A bubble of hope was slowly expanding inside Scorpius's chest. 

“Don’t play with me, Albus.”

“If you want to go to Guatemala, then I want to go to Guatemala. If geeking out about unfamiliar magics makes you happy then, okay, that makes me happy too. I don’t want to be anywhere that you’re not. Tell me where and when to go, and fuck it, I’ll go.”

Scorpius brought his hands to Albus’s face and cupped his cheeks. He looked into his green eyes, not believing his luck in having this wonderful person all to himself and, partly because he was feeling brave and partly because if things went sour he could just escape to another continent, he decided to finally jump. 

“I love you, Albus.” 

And then he kissed him. Just once on the lips. A soft, lingering kiss that made his whole body hum. He pulled back. His hands fell to his sides. He looked at Albus, who was grinning. 

“What’s so funny?” Scorpius asked, feeling suddenly foolish. 

“Nothing,” said Albus, who was grinning wider. “I just love you too, you wanker.”

Scorpius could hardly believe his ears. 

“You do? Since when?”

“Since always,” Albus laughed. 

This couldn’t be happening. It didn’t make any sense. Did it? 

“I thought—I thought you didn’t like blokes like that.”

“I never said that.”

“You hated that I kissed that guy—oh.”

“Yeah, I was, er, a tad jealous. I thought you didn’t like me.”

Scorpius took a deep breath. This was a lot to process. But things were starting to fall into place. Things that should have been obvious from the start. 

“Let me get this straight—”

“Hardly anything straight about it, but go on.”

“—you love me and I love you.”

“Seems like it.”

“What the _fuck_?” 

And perhaps it was because Scorpius never swore or because everything now seemed a little absurd, but both Albus and Scorpius erupted into a fit of giggles. 

“This would happen to us,” said Scorpius, who had finally stopped laughing. “We are so hopeless.”

“Perhaps,” said Albus, who had moved close again and was now running his fingers up and down Scorpius’s bare arm. Scorpius felt his skin burn where Albus had touched it. “Can I kiss you?” What a question. 

“Yes, please.”

And then Albus’s mouth was on his. And Scorpius answered with such enthusiasm. Every daydream, every fantasy, every wish Scorpius had about being with his best friend was coming true. 

Scorpius felt on fire. He couldn’t ever remember feeling this good or excited or sure. Or unsteady. They were gripping at each other and swaying. Scorpius walked backward with Albus to his bed, careful to not break the kiss even for a second. The backs of his knees hit the edge and he let himself fall back, bringing Albus down with him. 

They continued to kiss, slowly and perfectly as if it was the most natural thing they could be doing. Scorpius could hardly believe what was happening. What a turn of events! He pulled Albus closer as he deepened the kiss, loving the feeling, the taste, of Albus’s tongue sliding against his own. The warmth of Albus’s hands as they traveled across his torso, over his bare thighs. He would be happy feeling nothing but this for the rest of his life. 

“Take this off,” Scorpius said breathlessly, tugging at Albus’s t-shirt. Albus pulled back and sat on his knees.

"Scorpius, if we don't stop now—"

"I don't want to stop," Scorpius said breathlessly, catching Albus's wrist and kissing the inside.

Albus nodded resolutely.

"Good," he said, pulling his shirt over his head. “Good.” He came back down and brought his mouth to Scorpius’s neck. He kissed and bit and worked his way down, making marks on Scorpius’s pale chest. Scorpius let him do whatever he wanted. Let him run his tongue down his belly, let him pull off his boxers. Any shyness Scorpius was feeling dissipated as soon as Albus took him in his mouth, and Scorpius had to grip the blankets on his bed to keep himself from completely losing it. 

“Is this okay?” Albus asked. He looked up at Scorpius from the end of the bed, ready to get back to it. What a sight. 

“Yes, but come here,” Scorpius said. 

Albus crawled back up and joined Scorpius on the pillow. 

“You didn’t like it?”

“Of course I did, but I don’t want to come yet.” Then Scorpius kissed Albus again, pulling him close and wrapping his arms around him. He could feel Albus pressing through his joggers. “Get these off too,” he told him, tugging the elastic away from Albus’s skin. He was desperate to feel more.

Albus pushed his joggers all the way down before kicking them off his feet. Scorpius propped himself up on his elbow and looked admiringly at all of his best friend. His Albus. He laid back down on his back and held out his arms.

“Are you sure?” Albus asked, his eyes wide, and Scorpius knew exactly what he was asking. And he also knew exactly what he wanted. He nodded.

“Me too,” Albus said. “I’ll just go get my wand—for the charms.” And he rolled ungracefully off the bed and left for the sitting room. 

Scorpius laughed lightly to himself as he turned down his covers and got under his sheet. How strange it was to see Albus, his best friend since eleven years old, scurrying from his room, fully naked, to get them prepared to have sex. How strange it was to see Albus come back, hard length pressed up toward his belly, wand in hand, and a shy smile on his face as he crawled under the sheet to join him in his bed. How strange it was to have thought that he and Albus were merely friends and nothing more. That they didn’t want each other, need each other. 

Albus muttered the charms then threw his wand off the bed. Then their hands were all over each other again. Their mouths, too. It was uninhibited. Wild. Sloppy. Sweet. Time seemed to slow down, and Scorpius could feel _everything._ He moaned at the feeling of lips on the shell of his ear, and moaned louder at the feeling of a finger, then two, pushing inside him. The sheet ended up bunched around them, and soon Albus was between Scorpius’s bent legs.

“Hi,” Albus said. He was panting, and his lips were dark and swollen. His hair was an untamed mess, sticking up in all directions. He looked adorable. 

“Hi.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

And Scorpius guided Albus in, nervous because he’d never been with a man before, and yet not nervous because it was Albus. It hurt at first, and only after Albus told him to breathe and kissed his temple did Scorpius relax and allow Albus to push in all the way. 

Their bodies had never been closer, and Scorpius wanted it to last forever—this feeling of togetherness. Of safety. Of home. He told Albus to move and Albus began lightly thrusting, whispering, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

Magic crackled in the air around them as they moved faster, more deliberately, approaching climax and not once noticing the light from the hallway flickering excitedly or the television in the sitting room humming loudly. Scorpius pulled his legs closer to his chest, watched Albus touch him, felt love overtake him, and experienced pleasure like nothing he’d ever before shared with anyone.

* * *

“We slept together last night,” Scorpius said. It was a quarter to seven o’clock in the morning, and Albus was in Scorpius’s bed, his head resting on his friend’s chest, their legs and feet tangled. The light bulb in the hallway had exploded. The television was fried. 

“We did a bit more than that.”

“We shagged.”

“Oh, Merlin.”

“We made the beast with two backs.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“We fucked.”

“Ha!”

“We got it right.”

“We did.”

Albus looked up and Scorpius looked down. They smiled shyly at each other. 

“Is your offer still on the table?” Scorpius asked. He ran his fingers through Albus’s hair and kissed the top of his head.

“If you’ll have me.”

“Always.”

And they kissed again. And again. And did more. And Scorpius was thirty minutes late to work, but he assured Albus that Mr. Wright hardly cared because he got Scorpius’s answer (“A big, fat yes!”) and went off to inform the Director, grumbling something about getting too old for excursions with young people.

The day flew by, and when Scorpius arrived home that evening, Albus pulled him into a hug and then a kiss and then into his bedroom, where they stayed for most of the evening, kissing, exploring, talking, promising, and forming a new list of everything they were going to do when they traveled across the world, together.

* * *

“Well, that was unexpected.”

Harry Potter sat in the kitchen with his wife, Ginny. Their youngest son had just left after coming by for tea and telling them that he was going with Scorpius Malfoy to Central America in a month's time. 

“Are you saying you didn’t expect your son to come tell us he’s leaving to live in Guatemala for two years?” asked Ginny. She had poured herself another cup of tea and was clinking her nails absentmindedly against the porcelain. 

“When Al said that he had ‘news,’ my mind went somewhere else entirely.”

“Me too!” said Ginny. “And he didn’t even bring it up!”

“Wait—what are you talking about?”

“Him and Scorpius. They’re obviously together now.”

“ _What_?”

“Oh, honestly, you can’t tell me you didn’t think this would happen. They’ve been dancing around it for years.”

“Ginny, they’ve been together for years.”

“No,” Ginny laughed. “They haven’t. It’s new, and Al just _happened_ to forget to mention it. Oh, I’ll get it out of him—”

“Are you telling me that Albus and Scorpius haven’t been dating since they moved to London?”

“Yes!”

“Oh. Then I really did think that conversation was headed somewhere else.”

Ginny eyed him suspiciously. 

“What did you think our son was going to tell us?”

“Oh, you know, that they were engaged...”

“WHAT?”

“I’m not the only one who thought that!” Harry exclaimed. He began pacing the kitchen. “After Al told me he had some news to share, I wrote Draco—”

“Of course you did.”

“—and we met up for a friendly lunchtime drink—”

“That’s not a thing.”

“—and we had the same thought: there’s going to be a wedding—”

“You two are idiots.”

“—so, with only a few drinks in us, we found a department store—”

“Come again?”

“—and we picked out a little gift.”

“You and Draco Malfoy bought an engagement gift for your sons?” Ginny could hardly hold back her laughter. Harry glared at her. “Well, what was it?”

Harry, feeling just a bit foolish, cleared his throat.

“It’s, er, one of those fancy espresso machines. Quite nice. Very expensive. When the saleslady turned it on it made all these whirring noises and Draco yelped so loud he scared away other customers.” He chortled to himself and then nodded toward the other side of the house. “It’s wrapped and in Al’s old room.”

Ginny shook her head. Unbelievable. 

“What on earth made you think Al had been dating Scorpius this whole time?”

“What made you think he wasn’t?” Harry countered. 

“Well, a few months ago he told me Scorpius was seeing some girl who taught yoga. Al was really upset about it.” Ginny looked pleased with herself. 

“Scorpius cheated on Al with a yoga instructor?”

“No one cheated! They weren’t together!”

Harry chewed on his lip. 

“I don’t believe you.”

Ginny groaned in frustration. 

“Harry, do you remember last year when we all went out to dinner and Al brought that really pretty girl with him?”

“I thought she was just his friend.”

“She was his date!”

“Then why he did he also bring Scorpius?”

Ginny crossed her arms and frowned.

“Yeah, that was a bit weird.”

“Should I not have teased that girl about being a third wheel?”

“Harry!”

“In my defense, Scorpius did pull out Al’s chair for him—”

“I had forgotten about that.”

“—and they shared a dessert—”

“Okay, I see your point.”

“—with one spoon.”

They sat in silence for a while. 

‘Well, they’re officially together now,” said Ginny. “We just have to wait for them to tell us.”

“You don’t think Al’s scared to tell us, do you?” 

“No, I think it’s all just new to him, even though his feelings have obviously been there for a while. They’ll tell us by Christmas.”

“So I guess I’ll save the espresso machine,” Harry said, a little disappointed. “And I’ll go write Draco. He’s not going to be happy.”

“About Scorpius leaving?”

“About having to wait a bit longer to plan a wedding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick little thing that was swimming around in my brain. 
> 
> I had a really slow day at work and wrote this on my phone. I used dictation for some of it, and apparently, the microphone doesn't recognize the way I say "Albus" and processes his name as "Elvis" instead. So the early draft had lines like "...his best friend, Elvis Potter" and for some reason that was really funny to me.


	2. Part Two

There were many things Albus was going to miss about his flat in Chelsea. He'd miss the built-in bookshelves in the sitting room. He'd miss the old hardwood floors and the slight creaking noises that came with each step. And he'd miss the flower box that hung outside the small kitchen window above the sink. 

But what Albus was going to miss most of all was the bathroom and its soaking tub. 

The tub was currently occupied by Scorpius, who was lounging back, eyes closed, a towel rolled up behind his neck. Albus could barely make out Scorpius humming along with the wireless as the hot water rushed from the tap, gradually filling the basin. Near Scorpius’s feet, a little yellow rubber duck floated along, changing course again and again every time it came too close to the stream. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” Albus asked, handling the powdery orb Scorpius had purchased earlier in the day. “I’m not sure I trust anything called a ‘bomb’ no matter how good it smells.”

“Definitely,” Scorpius said. He’d opened his eyes and was reaching for the duck. He placed it on his chest. “It’s not a Dungbomb. Just throw it in already.” 

Albus chucked the orb into the water and laughed as droplets splashed onto Scorpius’s face. Immediately, the orb began to fizz and dissolve. In no time at all the water had turned a brilliant shade of turquoise. 

“Now the bubbles, please.”

Albus took the bottle of bath foam from the cabinet and squirted a generous amount into the end of the tub under the stream of water. Scorpius began stirring the water up with his hands, aiding the disbursement of bubbles. 

“This kinds of impedes my view of things,” Albus said, cocking his head. His eyes raked over Scorpius in the bath and the bubbles quickly covering the entire length of his body. Scorpius laughed. 

“My view’s still good though,” he said. And he watched fondly as Albus, who had been fully naked since Scorpius returned home from his father’s just an hour ago, used his wand to light several candles sitting on the sink. 

“Oh yeah?” Albus asked mischievously. He switched off the light and padded over to the tub. By the flickering candlelight he could just make out the rosiness of Scorpius’s cheeks. Albus turned off the tap and the soft wireless music greeted his ears more clearly. He moved to the head of the tub and kissed Scorpius deeply, tasting the stoutness of the bottled porter Albus had brought him earlier and which was now sitting on the toilet next to a blonde lager. 

Albus was just about to step over the tub’s tall edge and join Scorpius when there was a loud knock at the door. 

“Who the fuck is that?” Albus asked, breaking from Scorpius’s mouth. "It's nearly nine."

“Did you order food?”

“No,” Albus said, frowning. He grabbed a towel from the rack on the wall and wrapped it around his waist before kissing Scorpius again. “Hold tight.” 

He walked the short path from the bathroom to the front door, sidestepping boxes of things they had already packed for their two-year trip. He looked through the peephole and out at the dark front steps and recognized the shadowy figure immediately. 

He opened the door and looked at his brother, annoyed. 

“What do you want, James?”

“Al!” James said, slapping Albus once on the chest and pushing his way through the threshold. “Nice chest hair. How are you?”

“A bit busy,” Albus said through gritted teeth. He loved his brother, truly, but this was really not the time. 

“What’s this I hear about you moving to Argentina in a couple weeks? And why is it so dark in here? Ouch—” James had walked straight into the coffee table.

“Guatemala. And I’m kind of in the middle of—”

“Albus? Who is it?” Scorpius called from the bathroom. 

“Scorpius!” James said, following Scorpius’s voice and heading for the hall, bumping into boxes and the wall several times while trying to navigate in the dark. Albus followed, cursing under his breath. 

“James, really, if you could just make this quick—”

James came to a halt at the bathroom door and took in the dimly-lit surroundings: the candles flickering gently on the sink, the low music coming from the wireless perched on a shelf, and a very embarrassed Scorpius reclining chest deep in warm, bubbly water. 

“Nice,” James said, nodding appreciatively. He walked in, moved the beer bottles from the toilet to the floor, and sat on the seat. Scorpius sunk lower into the tub and then gathered some bubbles and arranged them strategically over his groin. Albus gave an exasperated sigh. 

“As you can see, we’re a little preoccupied—”

“Oh, Freckles, how often do you get to see your big brother? You’re with this one all the time.” He jerked a thumb toward Scorpius in the bath. 

“But—”

“You know, you’re pretty fit, Malfoy,” James said, looking at Scorpius again. Albus saw, even in the dark and aided only by the glow from the candles, Scorpius’s ears turn a brilliant red. 

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Now what’s this about you two leaving? And _why_ is it so dark in your place? I get why it’s dark in here, you romantic gits, but it’s like a cavern even out there. I thought you had the eclecktricity?” 

“Electricity,” Scorpius corrected. “And, um, we do but we’ve found that we should turn everything off—”

“You do _not_ have to explain, Scorpius,” Albus interrupted, but it was no use.

“—when we, um, _engage_ in certain _activities_.”

James looked at Scorpius dumbly. 

“I don’t get it.”

Scorpius tried again. 

“Our magic, it, um, interferes, so to speak, with the electrical things in the flat, and when we’re especially, um, excited—”

“I’m _begging_ you, Scorpius—”

“—or experiencing any intense feeling, really, stuff kind of just blows up or burns out or even catches fire.” 

James looked from Scorpius to Albus and back again, an annoying smirk on his face. 

“You kinky bastards.”

“Oh, it doesn’t have to be kinky,” Scorpius began, sitting up straighter in the tub. Albus sighed and raised his arms in defeat. They were really having this conversation. “It can be any kind of sex.” Albus gave a loud groan. He wanted to bash his head against the sink. 

“That good, huh?” James said. He looked at Albus and nodded. “I’m proud of you, Al.” Albus tightened the towel around his waist and pointed to the door. 

“Please leave now.”

“Not until you confirm that you really are moving.”

“Yes,” Albus and Scorpius said at the same time. 

“Can I have your place?”

“No,” they said in unison. 

James sulked. 

“Well why the hell not?”

“Because we’ve already found subtenants and you don’t pay your own rent anyway.”

James frowned.

“That was one—maybe two—times! Dad’s only had to help out a bit.”

Albus shook his head. Scorpius blew some bubbles from his cupped hand. The rubber duck bobbed in the water. 

“But look at this bathroom—it’s so nice! And okay, the rest of your place is pretty small, but that’s fine. And my flatmate is just awful. He doesn’t understand personal space!”

“Sounds tragic,” Albus said dryly. He again pointed to the door while staring James down. James stared back, his face changing from a glare to a pout to an encouraging smile, clearly trying to elicit some reaction from his brother. When Albus didn’t budge, James sighed. 

“Fine,” he said. His shoulders relaxed and he slouched on the toilet. “It was worth a shot... So you guys want to go out tonight?”

Albus gaped. Unbelievable. Scorpius gave a defeated sort of sigh and grabbed the rubber duck and began gliding it through the bubbles. 

_Fuck it,_ Albus thought. 

“That’s it,” Albus said, throwing his arms up again. The other two looked at him. “You want to hang out? You can hang out here.”

And Albus loosened and dropped his towel, crossed the short distance from the sink to the tub, and climbed over the edge. 

“Whoa!” James said, clapping a hand over his eyes. “I don’t need to see your candlelit bits, Al!”

“This is our evening,” Albus said, settling back against Scorpius’s chest and in between his legs. Scorpius brought his arms around Albus. Some of the displaced water splashed onto the floor. Albus made no effort to cover himself with bubbles. “If you want to spend your Saturday night with us, then so be it. But cast a heating charm on the water, will you?” 

James looked at his brother in shock for a moment before shaking his head and laughing. He pulled his wand from his side pocket and pointed it at the water. Steam began to rise from the tub and Albus sighed contentedly. 

“I get it, I get it,” James said. He got up, placed the beers back on the toilet seat and made for the door. He turned to look back and surveyed the scene one more time. The candles had started floating and the music coming from the wireless had gotten louder. Scorpius had begun kissing Albus’s neck.

James scrunched up his face in disgust. 

“I’ll let you get back to your… bath.” 

“Thanks,” Albus mumbled, waving him away. He was fully enjoying the gentle bite on his shoulder and the feeling of wet hands running over his chest and lower still, dipping under the water and between his thighs—

“But really, how about we go out tomorrow?” James asked, walking back into the bathroom. 

“SOD. OFF.”

Albus picked up the rubber duck and flung it at James. It landed with a wet smack on his forehead before falling to the tile below, sending tiny bubbles flying. 

“Okay, okay!” James said. And he left again. Only when Albus heard the front door close did he sit back and relax. 

“I think you hurt him,” Scorpius said. 

“He’s fine. I’ll get with him tomorrow and we’ll go out.”

“Not James,” Scorpius said, looking sadly out over the tub’s edge and at the bathroom floor. “Ducky.”

* * *

_Hold me close_  
_and tell me what the world is like_  
_I don’t want to look outside_  
_I want to depend on your eyes_  
_and your lips_  
_I don’t want to feel anything_  
_but your hand_  
_on the old raw bumper_  
_I don’t want to feel anything else_  
_If you love the dead rocks_  
_and the huge rough pine trees_  
_Ok I like them too_  
_Tell me if the wind_  
_makes a pretty sound_  
_in the billion billion needles_  
_I’ll close my eyes and smile_  
_Tell me if it’s a good morning_  
_or a clear morning_  
_Tell me what the fuck kind of morning_  
_it is_  
_and I’ll buy it_

— Leonard Cohen, “This Isn’t China”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I originally intended for Leap to be just a one chapter kind of deal, but I had this whole other part written out and nowhere to put it, so I just put it here.
> 
> It doesn't really add anything to the story other than to show how the boys are getting on leading up to their departure, plus James! 
> 
> Scorpius and Albus just love each other, okay?


End file.
